Moondust
by Ravager Zero
Summary: What if Riley looked up at the moon one night, and felt sad—but none of the emotions can figure it out because she's forgotten what made her sad?


**AN:** Everyone knows the story by now, but even though it's based on a spoiler, there's no spoilers here, which is wonderfully meta. Also, this was something of a self prompt from a discussion about that one scene in the memory dump…

I'm not sure if the flow's as good as some of my other works, but working with third person multiple limited/omniscient viewpoint after so long away from it was a bit challenging. I did like it though, a welcome change from my tighter works.

* * *

"Fear," Joy gestured to the controls as Riley climbed outside.

"Thank you, Joy," the purple emotion flexed his hands together in front of him and recalled a memory from last time—mixed yellow and purple. The roof was nice—it was good for hiding on; cool in the summer, and from it they could see the stars. It was also high up; and steep. And dad still hadn't gotten around to fixing the loose tiles yet. Riley climbed carefully out her window, along the weatherboard below, and pulled herself onto the gables.

"…and we're safe." Fear took his clipboard from under the console and made a note of the loose tiles for later. It was a serious safety issue, on the same level as looking both ways to cross the street, and possible meteor strikes. That was another risk of being on the roof, but the view was worth it. At the other end of the console Anger was grumbling, but then again the diminutive red emotion was _always_ grumbling.

"Doesn't anybody in this city sleep?" Anger grumbled. "This late you'd think they could at least turn out the lights."

Riley glowered for a moment at the wash of light from the city around her, then sighed, looking up. There was a cool breeze tonight, and it made the late winter air somewhat chill. Even after a year it still felt so much warmer than Minnesota. Not that that was especially bad, but she still missed Spring Lake, and actually having a back yard. But things were good now, with hockey practice three times a week and the big final approaching meant there was a chance to score a championship goal.

In headquarters Joy glanced over her shoulder, seeing the glow coming from Hockey Island. It was good to see how much it had grown—and surprisingly from Anger's input too. Then again, Anger was all about things being fair; and in sports, things were supposed to be fair. Disgust had had input too, though that was mostly about the concept of face paint—or more specifically a large number of reasons why mom and dad shouldn't wear it. Ever. Joy pressed the recall button, bringing up a memory from the quarter final match.

 _Mom and Dad in the stands, face paint and team jerseys, cheering louder than anything as Riley scored her second goal of the match. Three seconds later Riley had been checked by Teagan, a big girl from the Snowcats. Anger was about to explode, but half-time had just been called, and both girls wound up laughing, feeling quite silly for skating into each other—Joy having swiftly intervened at what she felt was an important first impression. It turned out Teagan had been watching Riley's parents—a fact which Disgust had not lot them disclose to Teagan. Ever since, Riley and Teagan had been friendly rivals on and off the ice._

Riley smiled at the memory, quietly wondering if Teagan was still awake too. She was even tempted to call her—quietly, of course—until she remembered she'd left her phone in her room before climbing up here. She let out a breath, trying to see the stars—she could if she tried, but the city was so bright at night. Sometimes the moon was the only thing bright enough to see. She sniffed softly, a wave of sadness washing over her.

"What did you do?" Disgust stared at Sadness next to her.

"I–I didn't touch anything; see?" Sadness gestured to her controls in confusion.

"Then why are we sad?"

"Oh no, oh no." Fear was starting to babble. "We've forgotten something important and we can't remember what it was and now we're sad because maybe it was sad or maybe it made us sad or did it scare us or—"

"Fear, we'll figure it out." Joy had stepped away from the console, placing a hand on the purple emotion's shoulder. She turned to the other emotions, and they looked to her as she spoke. "Do we have any ideas?"

"Do we have any ideas?" Anger rolled his eyes, gesturing to the rack of lightbulbs behind Joy. "Of course we've got ideas Joy. Why don't you pick one."

Fear was scribbling frantic notes on his clipboard. It took him a second to notice everyone staring at him. "What—oh, no, I have no idea what's going on. We've never been here before; so we don't know if it's safe."

"I think it's an old memory," Sadness spoke softly, looking at the floor. "The moon sometimes makes me sad too."

"Why would the _moon_ make _you_ sad?" Disgust frowned at Sadness in puzzlement.

Riley lay back against the roof, shivering slightly. Maybe it was a little colder than she'd first thought, but she didn't feel like going back inside yet. There was just something about the way the moon hung in the sky, so bright against the inky black of night. She smiled, closing her eyes.

 _A summer night, lying in the grass beside the lake, mom and dad nearby, everybody quiet. The moon was full, and the night was still with only the occasional rush of wind. Riley relaxed, looking up at the moon, following her father's pointing finger._

" _Want to know something special about the moon, Riley?"_

" _It's not made of cheese?" Mom laughed when Riley replied._

" _No, it's not made of cheese," Dad agreed. "Just look up, what do you see?"_

" _The moon?" Riley squinted, trying to figure it out._

" _Do you know what I see?"_

" _No."_

" _I see the same moon, Riley. What do you think they see in Spain, or up north in Canada?"_

" _Lots, I guess."_

" _I meant when_ they _look at the moon."_

" _Oh…" Riley smiled in the darkness, understanding._

"We all see the same moon," Riley whispered from the rooftop. Smiling sadly she scooted down the roof, back towards her window.

Something stopped her half way, and she looked up. A vapour trail crossed in front of the moon, as if a rocket had flown past. She sniffled, blinking back tears.

"What's happening now?" Joy asked, the barest hint of desperation in her voice. Things were not okay right now—if Riley was sad, there should at least have been a _reason_ she was sad.

"It's a memory," Sadness sounded morose. "I tried the recall tube."

"Without putting in the memory you need?" Disgust once again frowned at Sadness.

"I don't _know_ the memory we need," Sadness turned away so that the green emotion could only see her in profile. "I thought we might be able to find it."

"Oh no, I was right," Fear's left eye suddenly developed a nervous tic. "We _did_ forget something important."

"Can we figure it out?" Joy asked.

"Sure, let's just remember every memory we've ever forgotten," Anger glowered at the yellow emotion taking centre stage. "I'm sure it'll work _perfectly_."

"Uh, guys?" Fear tried to grab their attention as they started to argue. Sadness sat next to him. The whole console was glowing a deep blue-purple. Riley was sad, but she was also afraid of something. Sadness worked the controls slowly, unsure of the appropriate input for this situation. Next to her Fear did much the same.

"Why don't we try to recall the memory again?" Blue and purple hands reached for the button at the same time, pressing it softly.

Everyone else stopped when they heard the recall tube. Nothing came out, and the display was blank. Disgust shrugged. Joy frowned, cocking her head sideways. Anger leaned back under the tube, trying to figure out if it was simply broken.

"Right, what did you two do?" The red emotion scowled at the two sitting at the console. "This thing shouldn't break."

"It doesn't _look_ broken," Joy felt around the edges of the recall tube then inspected the projector. There was nothing wrong with either of them.

Riley sniffed again, wiping away tears. Something about the moon was just so… melancholy… tonight. It had something to with the rocket trail too. She just couldn't remember what. The cold air now raising gooseflesh even through the jacket she'd thrown over her pajamas, Riley climbed slowly from the roof, back into her room. She shut the window quietly behind her, staring out once more at the moon.

"Why do we keep doing this?" Disgust asked, sitting next to Anger at the console.

"Enough," Anger fumed, getting up and stepping away from the console. "I'm going to figure this out."

Joy and Sadness turned to watch as Anger stomped over to the idea shelf. Fear turned for a moment, remembering the last time Anger had been so insistent on getting an idea. But this time the red emotion wasn't going for just one idea, and was instead carefully rifling through them with quite some determination. He had a box, and carefully placed a single lightbulb in it. He mumbled something about there needing to be more. No one seemed to hear him.

"Well don't just stand there," he grumbled. "Help me find the rest."

Everyone else hurried away from the console, to the idea shelf. They glanced at Anger's idea—the bulb was shaped vaguely like a rocket, something they hadn't used in a very long time.

"You picked the rocket?" Sadness queried softly.

"It felt right."

"Ooooh, this one, definitely." Joy placed her idea in the box, it was a simple, unassuming shape.

"This one feels warm…" Sadness cradled the idea she had first reached for, placing it gently in the box.

Disgust flicked through ideas on the right hand shelf, finally picking one up carefully between two fingers. She shuddered as she dropped it in the box. "Do _not_ tell anyone we touched that." Everyone turned to look at her. "I don't like it, but it's my idea."

Fear was carefully weighing every idea from the left shelf. One was very definitely heavier than every other one there. When he placed it in the box the weight seemed no different to all the others.

"Okay, one each," Joy smiled, picking up the box and walking back to the console. "So how do we do this?"

Sadness stepped forward—even after all this time, she was still the one that knew the most about the console, about headquarters, and about memory, and all because she had spent the time to actually read the mind manuals. Pressing three different buttons, a small rack with five slots popped out the top of the console. Everyone took their idea from the box Joy was holding, preparing to plug them all in. Joy and Sadness nodded, everyone pressing their ideas into the rack. A daydream fired up, seeming to be the result of so many clashing ideas.

 _Riley was in a rocket, flying high above the Earth, and the moon was growing larger and larger. Behind them was a trail of rainbow dust, and even though the rocket had two seats, only Riley sat inside—but she did not feel alone. Something reassuring drifted through the odd blended daydream. The moon grew and grew, and is it did so it felt like they were growing farther and farther away from the reassuring presence still with them._

 _Riley stood on the moon, imagining herself next to a gleaming red and silver rocket, a small rainbow painted under the name on the nosecone. The_ Rainbow Flyer _. She planted a small flag, and scribbled something in the moondust._

The daydream ended, and everyone in headquarters heard the sound of a new memory being created. It wasn't of the daydream. It was blue, and it rolled slowly into short term. Sadness trudged over, inspecting it, trying to make it play.

Nothing happened.

The orb was empty.

Empty and blue. No matter how hard she tried to make it work; no matter what the other emotions tried, it wouldn't play. The memory was empty, and blue.

They had forgotten, and that memory made them sad.

But they would never know.

Even Joy couldn't remember those parting words—words that had inspired the blended daydream. It wasn't what she'd promised, but it was the best they could do. She had tried, and that was really all that had been asked of her. The empty blue orb went back into short term. Buried deep inside, and so pale as to be invisible, were seven words written in a childish scrawl.

 _Take her to the moon for me._


End file.
